The Secret to Letting Go
by FicFloveR
Summary: If there is one thing I know for certain, it's that desperation breeds frustration, and frustration is a dangerous thing in the heart of the wounded. AH/ExB


**Consider it disclaimed.**

**I started this a long time back, and forgot I had it. Posting what I have for now, hoping to add some more to it. A lil' angst in the first part, not sure where it's gonna go, but here it is. Hope you like it, and I do plan on adding to it. Won't be full length, but at least two chapters, maybe more, I dunno.**

**The Secret to Letting Go**

**BPOV**

Have you ever heard that old adage, that things seem harsher in the light of day? That what seemed innocuous and innocent in the cover night, appears ruthless and unforgiving in the glaring light of the morning sun? I wonder if you've ever experienced what I'm feeling right now. The hurt, the pain, the confusion.

I should know. We were together for two years. We must have spoken about times that we were hurt by others, but I cannot recall any such conversation at this moment.

Last night was, oddly enough, one of the worst nights of my life. It was even more gut wrenching than the night you left me, if you can believe that. Would you find that odd, that a night of no words between us could be more awful that a night of too many words? I wonder what you would think of me, knowing how much I still hurt. Would you think me weak, silly? Would you pity me? Would you understand?

I roll, tangled in stiff cotton sheets that no longer hold your scent, and face the window just in time to catch a glimpse of the small bird that was resting on the sill there before I scared it away. The flash of color in the sunlight reminds me of you, of last night.

The flash of the streetlight on your hair is what caught my attention to start with. The sound of your laughter filled the air and, like a thick blanket, smothered the other sounds of life ringing out around us. I was running, to nowhere in particular, trying to clear my thoughts. They've seemed to only revolve around you and I was desperately seeking the reprieve that only physical exhaustion brings me. Luckily I've never been big on exercise, so it doesn't take much. Would you laugh at that?

It was one split second, in passing, on a fairly empty sidewalk late at night. The glint of color, the sound of happiness, one moment of eye contact, and it was over.

It was inevitable that I would see you, eventually. I had somewhat prepared myself so the sight of you, in that moment, wasn't quite the shock I expected it to be. No, the surprise came this morning when, the adrenaline long burned off and the fatigue slept away, the same split second I experienced the night before turned in to an eternity relived in my mind's eye.

Suddenly I am completely aware of all the details my heart protected me from under the cover of darkness. The light of day had stripped my defenses, burned them to ash.

Now I can recall that your hair was slightly longer, your cheeks were flushed, your lips darker, your eyes lighter. The clothes you were wearing fit a bit more snug, calling more attention to your broad shoulders, taut stomach, toned arms, and firm thighs. You've been working out, and it shows. Does it make sense that I am somewhat mollified by the fact that you aren't exactly the same?

After some reflection I am able to see that you've never looked as good as you did last night. I will continue to wonder if the heat in your face was because of the drinks you had likely been consuming, or because of the beautiful blonde girl that you were with. If your lips were darkened by her passionate kisses shared in a crowded bar, or secluded alley.

She was absolutely gorgeous. Tall, statuesque, regal even. It would make sense if she is what brought you such joy in that moment. Was the laugh because of something funny she had said, or were you just so happy with her that your elation required some sort of a vocal outlet?

I think I will refrain from jumping to conclusions about your relationship with her. She could be a lover, a girlfriend, but she could also be a friend, a distant relative. Conjecture will get me nowhere I want to be.

The hardest part about last night, the part that now pulls tears from my eyes, was when our eyes met. What must have lasted hundredths of a second will live forever, etched in my heart.

When your clover colored eyes flickered to me there was nothing there for me. No spark of curiosity, no glimmer of sadness, no regret. There was nothing there for me and, if I am completely honest with myself, it seemed as if you looked right through me.

For all of me that you still hold, I have nothing of you.

I have learned that the pressure in my chest seems less if I breathe through the tears. It's been a couple of weeks since I've had this hard of a cry over you. I thought that the worst was passed, but I guess not.

The fact that you can walk with your friends, laugh, and look right through me proves that you're just going on with your life. Meanwhile, I'm still living with your goodbye.

I cannot understand, wrap my mind around, how you could just walk on by without feeling something. Don't you have even the slightest feelings left for me? Was I that wrong about how much you loved me? Because I am absolutely certain that you once did.

Or have you forgotten about that? Did the indifference you began to feel toward me smother the life from happier memories? Maybe. Maybe.

To be honest, even if you are sad about our ending, your way of moving on seems to be working far better than mine.

I will wipe my face clear of any remaining tears, take breaths until they go from shuddering to calming. I will close my eyes and bury my head beneath what was once your pillow. Perhaps the cover of darkness can once again take away the harshness of the early morning light.

Just when I think I might finally be getting back to normal you manage to take me down a peg or two.

I never imagined this morning that choosing to sit in public and drink my coffee would be as enlightening as it has been.

I've developed a taste for it over the last few weeks, coffee that is, not that you would have any reason to know.

Nights of unreliable sleep led to a new vice. I no longer need it to function during the day, but the down time and warm cup seem to calm me despite the caffeine rush.

It was here, sipping my drink, playing Sudoku on my recently purchased Nook Tablet, that your world tilted mine on its axis once again.

I had not noticed that the small table for two next to mine had become occupied until I heard your name. One quick glance revealed another gorgeous blonde, though her hair is a shade or two darker, and she is not the same one I had seen you with months prior. I am ashamed to say that I didn't even debate whether or not I should be listening to the one-sided conversation she was having with someone on her phone.

I hear that you are doing fine. You're busy with work apparently, and have only been able to take her out twice. Your sisters birthday is coming up next week, and this girl is hopeful that you will ask her to accompany you to the surprise party you seem to have had a hand in planning.

Briefly I am reminded that by losing you I have also lost another dear friend. Though Alice travels and is rarely home, we always got along and enjoyed each other's company. She has called twice since we broke up, but I wasn't sure if she knew about us. I didn't think it would be fair to you if I spoke with her, so I never answered or called her back.

I listen still, and hear that you've recently been offered a promotion. It seems like you're doing well, as far as I can gather.

Would it make sense to you if I said that though I am happy for you, it hurts to know life is being so kind to you?

While the girl's conversation flows on to other people and things I think back on how little my life has changed since you left. I still feel your absence. I still miss you. I still love you.

I have taken down and packed away all physical reminders of you, but I can't exorcise your ghost. You haunt me, stealing my lightness and laughter. Weeks, months even, have passed, and I haven't laughed yet. This realization only reminds me of the night I first saw you with your other blonde friend, laughing at nothing and everything. You seem to have moved on so easily, and that... hurts.

I can feel the burning behind my eyes and try to breathe slowly to hinder their advance. I take another sip of my coffee as the bell above the door rings out. It's you.

I watch your face light up and the most beautiful smile spread all the way to your eyes. The familiarity burns me, because it is not meant for me. It is for her, and you do not even see me as she stands to greet you with a hug and a kiss.

I haven't even made a conscious decision to go, but I find myself gathering my belongings and standing quickly. My movement has caught your eye and you speak my name as she takes her seat.

"Isabella?"

You step towards me, blocking her from my view. The sound of your voice leaves me no choice and I meet your gaze. I see the pity there, the uneasiness brought on by the traitorous tears that are leaving their marks on my flushed cheeks.

You look to me, at a loss for words, unsure of what to say now that you have my attention. Your beautiful face and the fact that you are so put together while I am still falling apart brings out my desperation. In this moment there is only one thing I want to know. That I _need_ to know.

"Edward, tell me. Tell me what your secret is."

The tears have choked and warped my voice. It is thick with too much heartache. Your face twists in confusion at my words, so I go on.

"What is your secret to letting go...", a small sob breaks from my heaving chest, "to letting go like you did?"

Your face falls along with your eyes, though no words escape you. While you focus on the floor between us I glance around. This moment that is such a huge part of my life, is nothing to anyone else here. No one around us knows the devastation that I am feeling in this moment, not even you.

I bring my eyes back to you, you're still looking at the floor, slightly shuffling your feet. I want to make sure that you know I'm not saying this to make you feel like a bad person.

"Edward, please, I'm only asking because I need to know how to do it. I'm asking because I can't forget. I can't stop missing you, or longing to feel your kisses again. Yet, here you stand, completely unaffected." I swipe at my face to clear it again. "I'm not angry or upset with you for it, I _envy_ _you_ because of it."

I can hear the pleading tone my voice has taken on, and I hope that you can too. I watch as your eyes lift, and just before your gaze reaches mine again her soft voice rings out, "Edward?"

You immediately turn to her, and I realize that the words between us that sounded so loud to me, were barely whispers in reality. Our interaction that feels like it lasted forever was only seconds long in actuality. She is only aware that your attention was diverted, though she does not yet know why.

I don't want to cause any problems for you, so I leave before you can turn back to me. My coffee abandoned, and my morning shot, I walk the city sidewalks, welcoming any and every distraction from the... shame? Anger? Fear? No, it's the desperation I am running from. Pure, unadulterated, desperation.

If there is one thing I know for certain, it's that desperation breeds frustration, and frustration is a dangerous thing in the heart of the wounded.

Time has done what it is best known for and continued to pass me by, leaving things in the past where they belong. More months have gone by and I find myself thinking of you less and less every day, until eventually weeks have gone by without my thoughts drifting to you.

Today is the first I've thought of you in a couple of months, and I only do so because it's your birthday. Ironically enough it is also the same day that you broke up with me exactly one year ago. A lot has changed since then.

I've gotten my own promotion at work. I am now a Senior Loan Officer, no longer required to do the grunt work for others. I've moved closer so that I can walk to work on days that the weather permits it.

Between not paying for gas and never going out I've managed to save one of my twice-monthly paychecks every month, on top of all the paychecks from my weekend job as a receptionist at the gym down the block from my apartment. It's a nice little chunk of change and I'm planning on using a small amount of it to take myself on a vacation soon.

I work steadily all morning, though I find that I can't keep from wondering where you are and how you are doing. How is your family? Are you happy wherever you are?

After lunch I sit down and sign back in to my computer just as Jan, our front desk attendant, rings to tell me that there is a member waiting in the lobby with a loan application. Color me not surprised when I reach the lobby to find you there, texting away on your phone, completed loan application balanced precariously on your bouncing knee.

I clear my throat, unsure how I feel about seeing you. "Mr. Cullen?"

I don't know exactly why I've addressed you so formally. I suspect that the only way I'll make it through is to remain strictly professional because I didn't realize until this moment how much I've missed seeing you. Just an hour ago I thought I was over this, you. It seems I have grown quite adept at fooling myself where you are concerned.

Your eyes never leave your phone as you stand and make your way to the doorway of my office. You manage a cursory glance to navigate your way to the chairs directly across the desk from mine and have a seat. You place your application on my desk, and I suppose that whatever you are texting about must be important because I've never seen you be so unprofessional, and borderline rude.

Instead of interrupting you I simply take the application and begin typing the information in to our system. I can still hear the steady clicking of your phone keys and the vibrating alert of a response.

Once all of the personal information is completed I move to the purpose of the loan, which you have left blank.

I look up to find you still occupied by your phone and clear my throat, "Excuse me, Mr. Cullen, but I need to know what you intend to use the ten thousand dollars for."

A second passes before you finally speak and look up, "Uh, for an engagement ring."

The moment that your eyes meet mine is the same moment that your words register with me. An engagement ring. No matter how much I try to school my expression I am almost positive that we are wearing matching faces of shock.

Though time has healed some wounds, I was not prepared for this, for you to have moved on so seriously, so quickly. The pain is fast, but I am able to keep it from shining through. I face my computer once again, completing the application, and pulling your credit report.

"Well, let me be the first to say 'congratulations' on your engagement."

I hear you shift in your seat, "Thanks. Um, you look... you look good, Bella."

"Thank you, so do you." I can't look at you. I don't know how to, knowing that I've never really gotten over losing you. I thought I had, but I was wrong.

As soon as the credit report pulls I begin to look it over. Most people think it's all about the score, but they're wrong. I continue clicking away at the computer as you clear your throat, probably thinking of ways to fill the awkward silence.

"Bella, if you're uncomfortable doing this I can wait for someone else to help me."

Again, I don't look at you, but I shake my head and answer you, "No, Edward, it's fine. Unless you'd rather see someone else, I am perfectly capable of finishing this. As a matter of fact I'm over halfway through anyway."

I hear you blow a loud breath out of your mouth and then chuckle, "Bella, you can't even look at me."

I stop my hands and turn fully to face you, looking you directly in the eye. I can't lie to save my ass, so I'm honest. "Edward, I won't lie and say that this isn't whole lot of awkward for me, or that it doesn't hurt that you've been able to move on the way you have, but I am happy for you. I would love to play catch up, but then I wouldn't be able to finish this for you, and I suppose that you've got some pretty big plans later."

My heart is pounding inside my chest, and my breaths are coming a bit quicker than normal, but, thankfully, you simply nod and I return to my work.

"So, you must have someone special you go home to, too. "

I can't suppress a small laugh at your words. "No, there's no one. I've only recently come to terms with the ending of my last relationship and I'm better off being single for now."

The silence that follows isn't awkward. I've not said anything that I should be ashamed of, so I use the quiet to concentrate on what is in front of me. I finally finish everything up and turn to find you lost in thought, staring out the large window that faces the parking lot.

"Mr. Cullen," your eyes snap to mine, and your hand goes to your hair, "I have to say that everything looks good with your credit, and your job history and income are both excellent. I don't have a problem approving the loan. The only catch is that we prefer to not just hand out cash. Do you have a particular ring or jeweler in mind already?"

Your hand falls from your hair to the back of your neck, where you massage the muscles. Your gaze is curious, confused even. "Yes, it's actually just down the block."

"Okay, well, what I need from you is either an invoice or a receipt. If you can get that for me then I'll cut a cashier's check made out directly to the jeweler for the exact amount. Then we can discuss your payment options and the terms of the loan."

I could call the jeweler and have them fax an invoice to me. Technically with your credit and income I don't even have to have it, but you don't know that and I need some space. Your presence in my tiny office is suffocating, draining. I need to get away from you, and this is the only way to do it without seeming rude.

You're nodding your head, "Yeah. Yeah, that should be fine. Is it okay if I do that now, and come right back?"

"Absolutely, I'll let Jan know I'm waiting for you so you'll be able to just come straight back to my office when you return."

Without another word you stand and see yourself out. I immediately follow and shut my door before letting Jan know that I'm unavailable until you return.

I press my forehead on to the cool wood of my desk and try to slow down my breathing. I know that I'm nearing hyperventilation and passing out is the last thing I need in this moment.

I could sit here and ask myself why seeing you again is doing this to me, or why hearing that you will be getting engaged is hurting this badly, but I already know the answers. No matter how much time passes I will never really get over losing you. Losing what we shared, the mutuality of what I still feel.

What I would like to know is why, after being apart for an entire year, I still feel this way for you, and how it all can be revealed by simply being near you. I don't know you anymore, so how can I still love you? If anyone else were in my situation I would say it's impossible, that they couldn't feel this way. But it _is_ me in this situation, and I _do_ still feel this way.

I have to get this under control before you come back. I can't still be this way when you return. I can't suffer the indignity of crumbling in front of you, while you rejoice in your own happiness. I need something to calm my nerves, and that is jarring, since I've never been one to consider self-medicating.

One of the other loan officers here is a closet alcoholic, I think I had told you about her once before, and she gave me a gift basket of single shot liquors this past Christmas. I never took it home because I've never been a big drinker, and just hadn't found someone to give it away to. Now it beckons from my bottom drawer.

Knowing that I am endangering my job pales in comparison to what I would suffer through if I didn't settle down before you return. There are two small bottles of something cinnamon flavored in the front, and it is cheerfully colored to match the season it was given for. The brand name of 'After Shock' makes me laugh because it is sickeningly apropos.

Knowing my tolerance for alcohol is probably at an all time low, I war with myself, one or two? One would merely relax me, but it would take longer to go in to effect. Two would slow my reaction time, and possibly require me to pay closer attention so that I do not slur words or stumble, but it would likely take effect much sooner.

I've spent too much time debating and your return should be only moments away. Two it is, then. The liquid burns, pricking my eyes a bit, but I power through them. I snag a piece of peppermint from the courtesy dish that I keep on the corner of my desk. It should keep down any suspicion of why my breath smells . I'm being reckless, careless, and I don't like it. I feel uncomfortable in my own skin.

Only ten more minutes have passed when you finally return. The alcohol has warmed my veins and calmed my mind. I smile easily as you hand me the invoice from the jeweler. I don't bother reading anything other than the final amount due. I don't know if I can handle descriptions of the ring or possible engravings you are having done. Liquor can only do so much for a girl. Liquid courage it is, liquid nerves of steel it is not.

I finish everything quickly, and your silence helps. "Okay, Mr. Cullen, we can create the loan to be open-ended so that it is a line of credit that you can borrow against again in the future without having to re-apply and your minimum monthly payment would be $290 per month until paid in full, or we can make it closed-end with a term of five years or less. If you choose closed-end the monthly payment will be determined by the length of the loan."

I look to you and it seems that something has you a bit perplexed. Your brow is creased in that familiar way and your frown is pronounced. "Whichever is easiest."

"Either one would be the same for me to finish. Basically you have to decide whether you may need or want to borrow money from us again in the future. If not, then there's your answer."

You rub your face, like this is a difficult decision, but it shouldn't be.

"I guess just leave it open then. I doubt I'll need it again, but never say never, right?"

Instead of the polite chuckle or smile of agreement that I would have given to any other customer, I simply turn back to my computer and begin typing away. You still remain quiet as the papers begin to print out.

I am all business as I tell you where to sign and explain the terms and conditions of the loan you've taken out to buy a ring for your soon to be fiancé. I am thorough as always, but without the humorous anecdotes and charm I use normally. People listen more closely if you make it entertaining. You would be surprised if I told you how many times someone didn't understand why we've taken them to court when they haven't made a payment in six months.

You sign on the very last page verifying that you understand everything that I have explained, and the ink hasn't even had time to dry before I leave to get the jewelers check.

I do not realize the effect the alcohol has had on my coordination until it is too late. By the time I reach my office door I stumble and have to catch myself on the doorjamb to keep from falling.

"Bella? Are you okay?"

I don't even spare you a glance as I chuckle and nod, "Yes, just a small head rush from standing too quickly."

I quickly right myself and concentrate on my steps all the way to our file room where I retrieve the check from the printer.

I should have only had one drink. I'm drunk, but not so far gone that I can't hide it from my co-workers. I'll be fine as long as I can manage to stay behind my desk for a couple of hours. I plan the rest of my afternoon in my head as I walk slowly back to my office.

I cross back in to my office and take a seat behind my desk. I begin to speak, but belatedly realize that you are no longer in your chair. You've gotten up and I hear the click as you close my door.

"What are you doing, Mr. Cullen?"

You sit back down and place the two empty bottles on my desk in front of me.

"Bella, how long has this been going on? Drinking at work, that's not like you."

I can't help but laugh at the actual concern on your face. You're scared for me, and it is laughable. I don't even have the wherewithal to be embarrassed that I forgot to put the bottles in my trash bin.

"Don't worry, Mr. Cullen, it's only been going on since about twenty minutes after you walked in and it's not likely to happen again. Unless you come back, of course. Your concern is cute, but don't trouble yourself with worry for me. I've been doing just fine without you here to take care of me for the past year, and I'll be fine without you for the next year as well."

The smile on my face isn't forced. The alcohol is making me unusually content and chatty to a fault. I could have lied, but my mouth was moving before I had even thought what to say.

"What did I do to you, Bella?" Your eyes darken in an unhappy way, and the way you hold your mouth suggests that you are sincerely curious.

"Don't look so sad, Mr. Cullen. Besides, I think the more appropriate question would be what you haven't done to me."

Your hands push through your longer hair, "Please stop calling me that. You can call me Edward."

"Well, I would argue that it would be highly unprofessional of me to do so, but I think professionalism went out the window when I took that first drink. So since we're calling a spade a spade, your loan is done, your check is hot off the presses, and you are free to go." I stand and hold the check out toward you. "I wish you luck with your proposal, I'm sure she's lovely. Please tell Alice, and the rest of your family, that I hope they're doing well."

You stand slowly, but don't take the check from my hand. "Bella, please, talk to me."

"Oh, I'm sorry, was there something else you needed help with today?" I know what you mean, but I can feel that I am only moments from falling apart. My dignity is gone, so what little pride I might have left is worth fighting for.

You look down, and finally take the check. "No, I don't guess there is. Thank you for your help. Have a nice afternoon."

With that you simply turn and walk out. Again. I've watched you leave more times than I care to remember, and it never gets easier.


End file.
